


Woodsmoke and Gun Oil

by disreputabledog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Blow Jobs, Brother Feels, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, F/M, First Time, M/M, My First Fanfic, Russian Mythology, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disreputabledog/pseuds/disreputabledog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam comes to a realization after a hunt and rekindles a dormant part of his relationship with Dean during a Christmas blizzard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustineDelarge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustineDelarge/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something sinister on the loose in a small town: business as usual.

For all the hunts they had seen over the years, somehow this was their first blizzard. Sam breathed on his cupped hands as he trudged down the snowy trail after his brother, bitterly wishing for the thousandth time that he had proper gloves. Hard to fire a gun in ski gloves, yes, but it was just as hard with frozen fingers. The worst of the snow had not even arrived yet. This small town already had a foot of snow on the ground from regular winter accumulation and the forecast predicted another twelve to fifteen inches by tomorrow night. The locals were used to this kind of weather so the roads were well plowed and salted for now, but the going would get rough before long.

Sam followed Dean through the door of the small cabin and the two men stamped the snow off their boots. "Dean, seriously, why are we here? We've always agreed Bigfoot isn't real. And the yeti is from Asia so even if those are real, there's no reason for one to be prowling around the north woods of Wisconsin. A desperate grizzly is so not our division, and there aren't really more options than that. I mean, what, a frost giant? Come on."

Dean glared at him from where he sat on the wooden floor pulling off his boots. "Sammy, we've been over this. I'm willing to wager the only Sasquatch in this town is you, but something is eating people, and it sounds like our kind of thing, and at this point I am not risking my car out in that shit. We might as well clean house while we're here. You got a problem with that?"

"Okay, okay," Sam sighed, putting his hands up. "I'm just saying, we don't have a lot to go on here and it's fucking cold."

"Not my fault you've gone soft from four years in Palo Alto. Suck it up, cupcake. We've got work to do." 

Grumbling under his breath, Sam put a new log in the fireplace and rekindled the coals of last night's fire.

* * *

After a few hours of mostly silent research, Sam thought he finally had something useful. "So, get this. There's a Russian story about the _Snegurochka_ , the snow maiden. Sometimes she's a miracle made out of snow by a childless old couple, sometimes she's the daughter of the Frost King. Either way, she goes looking for love and then, uh, melts when she finds it."

" _Melts?_ "

"Yeah. Seems the warmth of true love is too much for her cold heart." Sam made a face as he paraphrased.

"Okay, but does she eat people?"

"Well, not exactly. At least, I haven't found any lore that says she does. Yet."

"Sam, people are disappearing. All of them are turning up later drained of blood, others have been gnawed on. Does that sound like a frigid bitch who just needs a good lay to you?"

"No, but none of our witnesses noticed giant footprints either which rules out everything else I can think of. Look, the stories all say the Snegurochka has no blood. Maybe the 'looking for love' thing is just a metaphor or a corruption, and she's more like a vampire, needing to feed on human life to stay corporeal." He shrugged. "Maybe animals got to some of the bodies after that, and that's why they were gnawed. The coroner said there wasn't anything weird about the bite marks, and I think I agree with her."

"You're really set on this Smegma Crotch thing."

"No, Dean, gross!" Sam threw his pen at his brother and Dean caught it and threw it right back. Sam misjudged the distance and the pen hit him square in the forehead. Dean burst out laughing.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Anyway," Sam continued pointedly through Dean's chuckles, "Do you have a better idea?"

"No," Dean admitted. "So how do we catch this frosty chick?"

* * *

"This is fucking stupid, Dean," Sam growled into the phone.

"We threw for it and I won, so bite me. Besides, you've got that whole puppy eyes thing going on. I'm sure you can charm the panties off one little ice witch."

The phone beeped and the call went dead. Sam resisted the urge to hurl it into a snowbank. They had plotted the disappearances to an open-air skating rink in town, a kind of courtyard that was flooded and frozen in the winter. The last time he had been ice skating was with Jess, and he had been terrible at it. How attractive he could be to a snow maiden while falling on his ass over and over, he had no idea.

He paid the entry and the skate rental fees, doing his best despite his mood to give a genuine smile to the older woman working the counter. She wished him a happy Christmas Eve and he looked at his watch in surprise. Sure enough, there was a twenty-four in the little date window. How had Christmas snuck up on him so fast? Luckily he already had a gift for his brother hidden in the bottom of his bag where Dean probably would not find it too early.

Sitting down on a bench to lace up his skates, he thought back to his last Christmas with Jess. They went to a party at her office. She wore a stunning green dress, and she had bought him a red vest to wear under his suit jacket, so they would coordinate but not be "too matchy-matchy" as she liked to say. He had a little too much eggnog and she brought him home early, laughing as he slurred declarations of love into her smooth neck and planted devoted kisses on her collarbone. When she perched on the arm of the couch and pulled the hem of her dress up over the tops of her stockings, he swept her up and tumbled her backwards onto the cushions, buried his face between her legs and licked and sucked until she came. Then he crawled up her body to nuzzle at her breasts, singing Jingle Bells in a silly voice until she pushed him off and ran for the bedroom laughing, laughing, and they made love again before falling asleep wrapped around each other.

Sam barely saw the ice passing by underneath his feet as he skated deliberately along the rail, lost in memories. That party was two years gone now, his love burned and buried before Christmas came again. His father gone too now, not that Dad had ever been around for many holidays. At least he still had Dean. He smiled through his tears, feeling a warm glow in his chest. Their life on the road was far from perfect, but despite all the death and weird shit they faced on a weekly basis, and despite how much Dean seemed to enjoy getting on his nerves, it gave him some peace to face it with his brother. And Dean was going to love his present.

Abruptly he realized he was alone in the rink. Even the employees were nowhere in sight. He stopped himself against the rail with a thump, rubbed at his eyes and searched his surroundings. He was alone—no, wait. Across the courtyard, a figure moved in the shadows behind the kiosk. A cold wind emerged from that direction, ruffling his hair where it stuck out of his hat. Keeping one hand on the rail, he reached for his gun with the other, but he kept it pointed down at his side. No need to scare some innocent pedestrian if he was mistaken.

"Hello?" No answer but the wind. He raised his gun, but damn, it was going to suck if he had to shoot on skates.

"Such strong emotions...your heart blazes." A woman's voice, and it came from behind him. He spun around and tried to get his gun up but fell hard to the ice instead. A pained curse died on his lips as he saw the woman above him. Her skin and hair were blue like pictures he had seen of the inside of a glacier, her body wrapped in a cloak of white fur and velvet. She smiled and reached down for him, and Sam's hand rose to meet hers, her gaze capturing his. "Let me taste your love," she murmured. Everything seemed to slow down and take on the clarity of fine glass.

"Sammy!" Dean's shout was his only warning as Sam felt strong arms hooked under his, dragging him backwards. His whole body felt cold, especially where his lower half scraped the ice, and he shook his head vigorously to clear it while Dean shouted worried questions into his face.

"D-Dean, I'm fine. She didn't hurt me. What are you doing here?"

"Keeping an eye on your dumb ass. I'm not about to let you get drained by a vampopsicle." Reassured that Sam was in one piece, Dean turned back the way they had come. "Son of a bitch! She's gone. Now what?"

"She was..." Sam frowned and climbed unsteadily to his feet, holding onto Dean's arm for balance. He stowed his gun. "She was looking for something. For someone. Maybe the thing about looking for love isn't about the blood after all, maybe the blood is just a substitute for what she really wants. Maybe she's looking for her mate."

"Mate? You mean there could be more of these things? That's just great." 

"No, I don't think so. In all the stories, the Snegurochka falls in love with a human."

"Even better. What the fuck do we do with that?"

Sam's only answer was another shake of his head. He could have sworn he heard...singing? He tugged on Dean's jacket and pointed across the rink to where a warm light had begun to glow, the sound of music rising on the wind as the light brightened. Dean jerked his head in the opposite direction, and Sam saw that the snow maiden was back, and also watching the light.

The last thing either man expected to see was a young Black woman walking out onto the ice, singing softly in what sounded like Russian to Sam's ears.

" _Golubushka_ ," the snow maiden said, gliding to meet the woman. 

"Lady, get out of here!" Dean called, moving as if to run toward the pair. He did not get far because Sam grabbed hold of the back of his jacket. 

"Dean, wait. I think she knows what she's doing." Dean glared and kept going, easily dragging Sam behind him because he was still wearing skates. It was either let go and let Dean get in the middle of the scene unfolding ahead of them, or tag along looking like a complete fool and hope to at least slow him down. "Dean," he hissed, "will you stop for a second and just listen, for fuck's sake. Look at them. Really look."

His brother stopped short. Sam slammed into his back, letting all his breath out in a surprised huff. Only Dean's firmly planted boots and Sam's throwing his arms quickly around the other's torso stopped the both of them going down in a heap. "Easy, tiger," Dean said, one hand coming up to grip Sam's forearm where it crossed his chest.

The two women in front of them had clasped hands with each other and seemed to be talking, though Sam could not hear their words. The snow maiden was smiling. Although the newcomer wore a more sorrowful expression, the love shining from her face was unmistakable. They drew closer and the snow maiden's lips touched her companion's.

"Whoa," and Sam could hear the smirk on Dean's face even standing behind him. Luckily, he refrained from further comment as the human woman clasped the snow maiden to her and deepened their kiss. The glow that seemed to emanate from the woman began to bleed into the snow maiden where they touched, golden light spilling down into her body from her mouth. As she filled with light like honey filling a jar, she also grew paler. The snow maiden was fading.

When all that remained of the Snegurochka was that light, it flowed back towards the other woman, gathering together at a point on her chest until it suddenly winked out entirely, plunging the rink into shadow. Sam let go of Dean and pressed on his eyes, which did nothing to erase the bright afterimages from his vision. Dean was already shuffling forward and Sam followed carefully on his skates.

"What was that?" Dean demanded of the now lone woman.

She turned tearful eyes toward him. "My beloved. Thank you for not hurting her." She toyed with something around her neck and as he grew closer Sam saw it was a necklace with some kind of flower pendant on it.

"Not hurting _her_? She killed three people."

"I know. It was all my fault. I wanted more time with her and I didn't know..."

As the woman trailed off, Sam noticed the tears on her cheeks and interjected, "I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean. Let's sit down while we talk." They returned to the bench by the empty kiosk and Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly while Sam changed out of his skates. 

"My name is Marina. She—is special."

"Snegurochka?" Dean asked. Her eyes widened.

"Yes, Snegurochka. She is part of my family's legacy, and my companion since I was a teenager. But only for a short time each year." Sam searched his pockets and offered her a crumpled napkin, which she accepted and used to wipe her eyes.

"She melts?" 

Marina nodded. "My ancestor found a way to keep her from melting entirely when they fell in love."

"And the people drained of blood?"

"Can you imagine seeing the person you love for only a few weeks each year? I couldn't send her away right before Christmas. I begged her to stay just a few more days. I didn't know the cost would be so high."

"I don't understand." Sam frowned. "There's a huge blizzard about to dump on this town. Why was she at risk of melting, and how would _warm_ human blood fix it?"

Marina shrugged helplessly. "Look, the weirdest thing about my life has always been that my girlfriend lives in a glass snowdrop eleven months out of the year. I don't know how it works. It's just my life."

"People died. I can't let you just swan around with a deadly—" Dean started in, but Sam put a hand on his arm and leaned over him.

"No, wait. It's not the weather. Love, that's the key. She said she wanted to taste it." His voice grew more animated. "The first victim, it was his tenth wedding anniversary. And the second, she was on her way home from her boyfriend's house. Yesterday, the last victim, he had a stack of love letters in his pocket. And earlier when she came for me I was thinking about Jess and D—" Sam choked on his next words, shooting a stricken look at his brother. Dean sent back his best "what the fuck, dude" grimace. "And, uh, and that must have been what attracted her to them, and me."

"What, like some kind of romantic bat signal?"

"Yeah, something like that. Marina, it's your love that," he gestured at her necklace, "calls her back, right?"

"Yes. The song I was singing is an old Russian love song. It's part of the magic that sustains her."

"Okay, so if she doesn't have blood of her own, and she needs love to survive but it is also her weakness, that must be why she needed to take the blood of people who were also deeply in love."

"Give her some extra gas, she gets another day in the world?"

"That's my best guess."

Sam reached out for Marina's hand. "Look, Marina. I know it's hard. God knows what I would have done for more time with Jess." He knew exactly what he had done for more time with Dean. "But whatever this magic is, it has pretty specific parameters and not following them got innocent people killed. Is that really worth it?"

Marina's eyes met his then, and he almost fell back from the hardness in them. "I regret those people's deaths. They didn't deserve to be dragged into this. But I do not regret a single minute of the extra days I got with her." She stood. "I don't even know why I'm still here talking to you. Merry Christmas," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away, somehow making the cheerful phrase sound as close to a swear word as he had ever heard. 

Dean got up to go after her, reaching for his gun, but Sam stopped him again. "What the hell, Sammy? We can't let her just walk away with a goddamn vampire in a bottle."

"Dean, the Snegurochka's gone for the year. Are you going to rip the pendant off her neck at gunpoint? On Christmas Eve? We'll keep our ears out next year and if something like this happens again we know where to find her and we can put a stop to it for good." He thumped his brother on the shoulder. "Come on, Dean. Let's just go back to the cabin. The weather's getting worse and I'd rather not end up on the morning news because my ass froze to this bench."

He dropped the skates behind the counter and started walking. When he heard Dean's growl of frustration and shuffling footsteps to keep up, he smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one bed in a snowstorm? Whatever will the Winchester boys do now?

The weather continued to worsen as they made their way back to the cabin. Not their usual accommodations, but the options in the area were limited and Dean had pounced on the chance to keep the car out of the snow in the attached shed. Even after Sam pointed out that they would still have to dig their way out to the road regardless and the desk guy informed them that the available cabins had only one bed, Dean just scoffed and stroked the steering wheel, crooning that he would take care of his baby. All Sam could do was roll his eyes.

Once he had his boots and coat off, Sam ended up face down on the bed, limbs spread wide, while Dean poked at the fireplace. His mind raced. It was his memories of Jess that had drawn the snow maiden to him, right? It was just coincidence that she had only appeared once his thoughts had turned to his brother. That stuff she said about "tasting love," it had to be focused on the romantic kind, given the victim pattern and the lore and everything Marina had said.

"Dean," he said, voice muffled by the quilt.

"Hm?" When Sam did not continue, Dean must have turned to look at him because the next thing he felt was a wad of newspaper hitting him on the head. "You better not be getting your feet all over my pillow."

Sam shuffled around on the bed until he was oriented properly and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Dean humming some song to himself and felt that warmth building in his chest again. The feeling was not unfamiliar, but for the first time in years he let himself dwell in it. When they started hunting together again, after Jess, part of him had hated how easily he slipped back into Dean's passenger seat. The little brother who almost got away before his nightmares tracked him down and dragged him home again.

Home. He turned his head to look at his brother, who was now sprawled in a chair with a beer and a smile, watching the snow. Dean and that car were his home all right, and as much as that thought sometimes terrified him, it was shoulder to shoulder with Dean where he felt safest.

"Budge up, Sasquatch." Sam grunted and obligingly pulled his arms and legs in to make room for Dean, who flopped onto the bed next to him. Thankfully there was more than enough room in the large bed for two. He rolled onto his side and found himself studying Dean, how his hand gripped the bottle, how his lips parted to take another sip, how his other hand absentmindedly rubbed his thigh. The warmth in Sam's chest moved lower, curling into his belly. To be perfectly honest, that was not an unfamiliar feeling around his brother either. Until the Snegurochka called his attention to it, however, he had never considered, at least not since—

"Earth to spaceman Sammy," Dean said, and poked him in the nose. Sam reacted automatically and snapped at Dean's finger with his teeth. Apparently Dean was not expecting that response because Sam easily caught the finger in his mouth. They froze like that for a moment, eyes locked together, before Dean cleared his throat.

"If you're that hungry, man, there's leftovers in the fridge." Sam released his finger and chuckled weakly. Dean made a big show of wiping his hand off on Sam's shirt. Was it his imagination or did Dean let his hand linger a little longer than necessary?

This was ridiculous, Sam was being ridiculous, it was the end of a ridiculous day, and if he wanted to make it through the next day sleeping in the same bed with his brother, he needed to stop himself from going down this path right the hell now. Still, Dean did not jump up immediately like Sam half-expected.

* * *

They spent the rest of the evening watching _Love, Actually_ and _A Christmas Story_ on television while the snow drifted outside. The fire was warm and the bed was comfortable, and Sam started to doze off during the beginning of _Scrooged_. He half-dreamed his way through a dozen memories: cramming for finals in the library, the first time he kissed a girl, killing a werewolf on his fourteenth birthday, his actual first kiss which was with Dean, reading a dog-eared copy of _The Hobbit_ in the backseat while Dean and Dad discussed beheading techniques in the front.

When he felt someone stroking the hair away from his face, he thought he was still dreaming. He smiled lazily and snuggled down deeper into the bed. The hand on his forehead hesitated, then continued. It felt good. Sam let out a contented sigh as the hand traced his cheek and nose before going back to his hair, almost petting him. It was something Dean used to do when they were kids and it always soothed him; his scalp was quite sensitive and his brother was gentle and warm.

Sam's eyes fluttered open and came to rest on Dean staring down at him. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Dean started to pull his hand away but Sam followed with his head, butting gently against Dean's hip.

"Don't stop." He smiled up at his brother, who hesitated again before the corner of his mouth quirked up and he returned to stroking Sam's hair. Dean dug a little deeper, getting his fingernails into the motion, and Sam fairly arched into the feeling.

"I forgot you're like a cat sometimes. A fucking huge one." Sam tried to make a purring sound in response but couldn't keep a straight face and ended up laughing his way further into Dean's lap. The laugh broke off into a gasp when Dean tightened his fingers and gave his hair a tug.

"Are you trying to start something, Sammy?" Dean asked, small smile but serious eyes. 

Sam met his eyes with matching intensity. "I'm not the one pushing buttons here."

"Oh, you mean this one?" Dean tightened his grip again, bringing heat to Sam's cheeks. Dean licked his lips and Sam bit his own, and then Sam was sitting up and grabbing the back of his brother's neck and growling into his mouth and kissing him, and Dean was kissing him back.

Sam had forgotten how amazing Dean's mouth felt. He had been thirteen the first time, just a curious kid with an amused and indulgent older sibling; he had been nearly eighteen the last time, that same kid playing at adulthood. That was two lifetimes ago now.

"Hey." Dean broke off the kiss and tapped Sam on the temple. "Where'd you go? If we're going to do this, I need you here with me."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Just...memories, you know."

"Well, you've filled out a bit since last time." Dean poked him in the chest. Sam grabbed his hand and pulled him in for another kiss. "Yep, much less like kissing a coat rack now," Dean mumbled into his mouth, chest vibrating with a chuckle.

"I'll show you coat rack, jerk," and Sam pushed Dean's shoulders back against the headboard and straddled his legs, pressing insistently into his brother's mouth with his tongue. After a few intense minutes, Dean managed to breathe out his usual response, but it sounded more like a prayer than a curse. Sam could feel Dean growing hard underneath him, and he was getting there fast himself. They had never gone much farther than this before, one or the other always tapping out or some other interruption cropping up, and Sam wondered if it would be the same this time.

Dean's lips were soft and he smelled of woodsmoke and gun oil. Sam smoothed his hands over Dean's chest and was rewarded with a loud moan when his fingers latched onto Dean's nipples through his shirt.

He grinned. "Dude."

"Yeah, I'm sensitive there. What's your," another moan as Sam bit into his neck, "point?" 

"Just reveling in my magical powers." When Sam pulled Dean's shirt up and started to suck on one nipple while rolling the other between his fingers, Dean's whole body arched off the bed and his hand flew up to clench in Sam's hair. Then it was Sam's turn to groan. Even now, they still knew each other's hot spots.

He moved his hands to Dean's back, tracing the scars there as he drew his brother's shirt off, sucking lightly on his neck. When he reached for the waistband of Dean's pants, he hesitated a little before undoing the button. Would his brother pull away? Would Dad come through the door, returning from death somehow at the least opportune moment? A sudden image of their father covered in snow and bellowing like a yeti at the sight of his two boys in bed together flashed into his mind and he had to chuckle despite himself. His nervousness built the laugh into a stupid giggle and he could feel his control slipping away.

Dean grabbed his wrist and Sam managed to catch his breath. He searched Dean's face for an indication that he had gone too far, but all he found was a smile and started to relax. After a bit of fumbling, Dean's pants were open and Sam's fingers wrapped around his brother's cock. He had seen it many times before, mostly by accident in living on top of each other for so long, but actually touching it was new. Shorter than his own but thicker, it felt heavy and velvety in his hand. He stroked gently at first, happy for the chance to explore. Hearing a small growl of frustration, he increased his pace, dug his fingers into Dean's chest with his other hand, and smiled when Dean's eyes closed and his mouth dropped open.

"I've been wanting to do this for a long time," Sam murmured. "You never let me before."

Dean rolled one of his eyes open. "You were just a kid, and my little brother. I'm supposed to take care of you, not corrupt you."

"What about all those girls in high school? You didn't seem to mind corrupting them."

"Hey, I never fucked freshmen when I was a senior. All the guys that did that were douches. Dean Winchester is many things, but he is not a douche." Dean settled back into the pillows with his hands behind his head like he had just delivered the last word on the subject and closed his eye again.

Quickly, Sam slid off Dean's lap and took his cock into his mouth. The smooth, warm weight of it on his tongue and the choked noise this forced out of his brother set fire to his senses. This was not the first time he had given a blow job; for a little while in college he had been that guy who would take any dare after three drinks (he had never had to pay for his own booze again once this fact got around); and Jess had a pretty blue strap-on that she loved him going down on. But it was his first time with Dean, and he was a little out of practice. He took his time, savoring the taste and scent, so different from kissing the rest of his body but still unmistakably Dean.

"God, Sam. Where did you," Dean groaned, and Sam raised his eyes to see that he had his hands covering his face. Pleased with the effect he was having, he hummed happily around as much of Dean's cock as he could fit in his mouth. When he pulled back to suck on the head and pressed his tongue to the underside, he felt Dean's fingers tangle in his hair again.

"You have no idea how many times I've thought about this exact view. Fuck. How much I've wanted to pull open your pretty mouth and shove my cock inside, get all that stupid hair messed up and sweaty and mine. One of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, waiting for this. You don't even know. Sammy. Goddamn."

Dean's heated voice washed over him, and the warmth of it pooled in his own cock. He moved one hand down to press on the spot just behind Dean's balls and the other up to mark Dean's chest with his fingernails before grasping at a nipple. As he sucked and stroked and pinched and wrenched sounds that were no longer words from his brother's mouth, he thought he had never felt more powerful. When Dean's hips bucked and his hands clutched desperately at his hair, Sam was ready.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm—" and then Dean was spurting into his mouth. He kept his lips sealed around the head while Dean's cock twitched through his orgasm, swallowing when his mouth filled with come, finally pulling off slowly and gently with one last curl of his tongue, the sensation making Dean shiver again.

Dean's hands fell to his sides and he just watched as Sam stripped off his own shirt and shorts. Sam straddled Dean again and crawled up his body, tracing his hands over the planes of stomach and chest as he went. When he bent for a kiss, Dean's hands came up to rest on Sam's hips. He wondered how well Dean knew the taste of his own come, whether he kissed his women after they went down on him, whether he then wrapped his tongue around their clits and made them sigh his name. The way Dean eagerly licked into his mouth probably answered that question.

"Touch me. Please, Dean." And Dean did, taking Sam's cock in his firm, calloused grip. His other hand rubbed along Sam's thigh and cupped his ass. Sam reveled in the feeling of being spread out over Dean's chest, almost on display, and in the way Dean stroked him with an intensity that stayed just on the pleasure side of almost-too-much. It was a line he loved to play with and somehow Dean guessed it. He wanted to say something now that his mouth was no longer occupied, but whatever words he had intended died in his throat at the expression on his brother's face.

"I would die for you," he said instead, simply. Not the sexiest pillow talk in the history of ever, but Dean did not slow, the hands that Sam had watched clean guns and stitch wounds a hundred thousand times now working him up to a glorious edge.

"Right now I want to see you come for me," Dean said, licking his lips and digging his fingers into the meat of Sam's ass and spreading him open.

Sam spilled over that edge, and all over Dean's chest.

* * *

Dean woke first on Christmas morning. Sam knew this must be so because his brother shook him awake at what had to be not long past dawn given the weak light suffusing the cabin. He tried to roll over and hide his face under the pillows but Dean poked and prodded him until he grudgingly sat up, rubbed his eyes, and allowed himself to be dragged to the window before he realized he was still naked and it was bitterly cold.

"What in the fuck, Dean," he managed.

"That in the fuck, Sam," came the reply, and he finally registered that the pale light in the cabin came not because of a recently risen sun, but because the windows were almost entirely covered in snow. His mouth fell open.

"I know!" Dean crowed. "Here, stand closer, I want to see how much of you would stick out." Sam stumbled forward and caught himself on the windowsill. The snow outside came up to his chest.

But they said...how..."

"It's fine, we still have power somehow, and plenty of food and fuel because you are occasionally a genius and made us shop at an actual store, and my baby is fine because I am _always_ a genius and chose the cabin with a shed. I made bacon. Sit. Eat."

When Sam had pulled on some clothes, eaten the breakfast Dean laid out, and thrown back some coffee, he was better equipped to absorb the situation. The cabin was half-buried and there was no way to dig themselves out without filling the cabin with snow, so they were stuck until the staff or town personnel rescued them, but everything else seemed to be fine. Great, in fact. Last night before sleep Sam had worried that everything would fall apart in the morning, but his brother was smiling like a five-year-old and kissing him like a lover.

After wolfing down his bacon and eggs, Dean pulled most of the bedding off onto the rug in front of the fireplace and made a sort of nest. On impulse, Sam curled up around him with his head in his lap, and they watched the fire together. There was no logical reason either of them should find the sight pleasant—they had all the wrong memories for nostalgia—but somehow they were both comforted. Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair and fondled his ears.

"Gonna put me back to sleep if you keep that up," Sam mumbled.

"Don't fall asleep just yet. Get up for a sec."

Dean rummaged in his bag briefly and returned carrying an oblong, newspaper-wrapped package, which he tossed onto the comforter next to Sam before sitting and wrapping himself in blankets again. "Merry Christmas, Sammy."

"Wait, wait." He grabbed his brother's present out of his own bag and set it down in front of him. "Merry Christmas." Dean tore off the brown paper wrapping before Sam had even regained his seat and stared at the unveiled object.

"It's a," he paused, "waffle maker?" Dean raised his eyebrows at him and was about to continue until Sam reached over and raised the lid.

"Better. It makes tiny pies." Dean was silent. Sam rushed on. "See, you cut out the pie crusts to fit and lay them in the molds and you can put whatever filling you want in them and then you put more pie crust on top and turn it on and ten minutes later you have pie."

"Wow. Awesome!"

The smile that bloomed on Dean's face was huge, and for a moment Sam could see the innocent kid Dean had been before his baby brother came along and changed everything. “I was thinking about you when the snow maiden came to me,” he said after a pause.

Dean tilted his head. “I thought you were thinking about Jess.”

“Yeah, I was. The skating made me think of her because we went together a few times, made me think of our last Christmas together. Then I was imagining what your face would look like when you opened your present.” He hugged his knees to himself and rocked a little. “I was thinking that even if we have to deal with all this crap all the time, I was glad we were in it together.”

Dean’s smile was tender now, and he took Sam’s hands in his and squeezed them. “You and me against the world, yeah. No matter what.”

Sam ducked his head and focused on opening the other gift. Inside last week's comics pages was a book about birdwatching. 

"I remembered when you were little, you always asked Dad about the birds we saw during all those long hours in the car—what were their names, where were they from, what did their eggs look like—and he never knew a damn thing about any of them except maybe vultures and blue jays." Dean shrugged. "I thought maybe it would be a good thing for you to know stuff about, you know, normal animals for a change. And I know how much you love research." He grinned and punched Sam on the arm. "Nerd."

Sam wanted to glare at the jibe but could not. "Thank you, Dean. I love it."

"C'mere, you." Dean caught him around the neck, dragged him to the floor, and rubbed his knuckles into the top of his head. Sam yelped and flailed his arms, trying to get free, but Dean had him locked in.

"Gerroff me!" he shouted and Dean finally let him loose.

 _That_ he could glare about, and did. At least, until Dean kissed him and turned his bones to honey.

They had all day. Sam was already plotting his revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [JustineDelarge's Winter Wincest contest](http://deanplease.tumblr.com/tagged/winter-wincest-fic-contest). Tied for first place!
> 
> This is my first Supernatural fanfic, and really my first proper fanfic ever, having mostly done filking previously.


End file.
